


when you move, i'm moved

by notanescalator



Category: Captain Marvel (2019)
Genre: Carol's a top obviously, Dirty Talk, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Masturbation, PWP, set some time between Captain Marvel and Infinity War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 20:16:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18924292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notanescalator/pseuds/notanescalator
Summary: Her thighs had pressed tightly, possessively, around him, and almost in a daze she asked him: “What are you?”And without a moment’s hesitation, his voice wracked with pleasure, he’d gasped: “I’m yours.”-In which Yon-Rogg is Carol's prisoner, and he delights in it more than he should.





	when you move, i'm moved

**Author's Note:**

> Shameless smut prompt fill for [Shampain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shampain/pseuds/Shampain)

Becoming an informant - his lack of say in the matter notwithstanding - had afforded Yon-Rogg some distinct privileges. As compensation for the level of intelligence he provided, as well as the deified protection that Carol had afforded him, his detention quarters resembled more of a luxurious (if small) apartment. The furniture was fairly elegant, comfortable, and the mattress pressed up against his back in just the right way. The bathroom was almost unnaturally clean, decorated in dusty pink and gold, and the water pressure in the shower was exquisite. The kitchen was the only thing that wasn’t quite right; they still didn’t trust him with anything constituting a weapon, so the drawers and cabinets were empty. His food was delivered prepared, and he ate it alone at the table facing the long, rectangular window, the glass tinted and far too thick to crack.

He imagined that this glamorous facade would serve as a comfort for many prisoners, a distraction from the truth of their captivity. But his quarters had always been impersonal, minimal and all furniture entirely practical. So long as he had the privacy of a bathroom and something on which to sleep, he had no interest in procuring special favours. This comfort seemed more glaringly foreign.

Still, it served some purpose when Carol visited. He still had his pride, fraying and fragmented as it was. If he had been in some dank, featureless cell, then Carol’s presence in it - somehow radiant even when she wasn’t  _ literally glowing _ \- would have served as too cruel a contrast. He doubted very much that she would reduce herself to fucking him in a mouldy, cramped prison cot. Instead, these material delusions meant she could spread him out in the comfort of that monstrous bed, and he could be certain that the noises she wrung from him did not travel outside those walls. 

Yon-Rogg had spent the last two hours exercising - some floor exercises, but also making use of the running machine allowed to him - and now his body shimmered with sweat. He peeled his clothes off with a sigh, letting them fall onto the sink as he stepped into the hot stream of the shower. 

The water stripped away the sweat and soothed his muscles, leaving them pleasantly tingly and buzzing. He tilted back his head, letting the water hit him full force in the face for a moment, allowing the sensation to jolt him into the present. He ran fingers tightly through his hair, and as he brought them down, his left hand grazed the skin above his tracker. There was nothing to suggest it was there, except that the tiny patch of skin over it felt a little firmer. Nevertheless, he was always aware of it.

The tracker was what had allowed for a lot of leniency in the conditions of his detainment. Carol had engineered the device herself, and had - he understood - done a great amount of research to ensure it was one he could not trick or remove. He had not even got a chance to see it before it was installed.

It should disturb him more, he thought, to have this thing inside him, executing an implicit control. And if anyone else had done it he would have been furious, felt at all times violated. But this was Carol’s handiwork, and he had already succumbed willingly to her power. At times when she was with him, her fingers would trace the skin over it, as if reassuring herself that it was there. It was just another proof of her possession, and he found that he relished it. This mark of hers, forever in him.

His cock stirred at the thought, and he scrubbed at his face with both hands. How did it come to this? How was it possible that he, who was supposed to have been _her_ _commander_ , could so wantonly submit to her? He thought of the last time they were together, and her hands had dug against his shoulders, supporting herself as she straddled him. Her thighs had pressed tightly, possessively, around him, and almost in a daze she asked him: “What are you?”

And without a moment’s hesitation, his voice wracked with pleasure, he’d gasped: “ _ I’m yours. _ ”

His left hand was still brushing the skin over the tracker, but now his right hand skimmed down over his chest, his stomach, and slipped around his cock. He closed his eyes and stroked himself with a lazy determination, feeling it firm between his fingers. He let himself remember Carol, the heat and wetness of her, as she moved above him, controlling the rhythm. A moan shocked itself from his lips, and the noise resonated obscenely in the room. 

He leaned back against the wall, ignoring the sudden cold of the tiles, and moved his left hand down to brush his nipples. Carol had discovered early on that his were particularly sensitive, and used that knowledge to great benefit in their subsequent trysts. He suspected she was much the same; on one occasion he had mouthed intently at her right breast, coaxing the nipple with his tongue, and she has pressed her nails so deep into his hips he had expected the skin to break.

He pulled slightly at his right nipple, and the resulting sensation made the rhythm of his hand slip. He was fully hard now, and when he brushed an unsteady thumb over the tip he could feel it leak. Carol had blown him, just the once, when she had come back from a disaster of a mission that seemed to leave her displaced. She didn’t seem to realise she had never done that to him before, and it had felt so curiously generous. He clawed at the memory, recalling the drag of her tongue against the side of his cock, against the slit, and how it had made him twist against the sheets. She had held his hips firmly against the bed, a subtle but effective reminder of who was in charge. 

His left hand moved clumsily over his hips, his chest, against his parted lips, as his right hand sped up. Desperate sounds drifted from his mouth that he was dimly grateful no one, not even Carol, was there to hear. He felt the impossible build of his orgasm, something almost alarming, and he reached out to steady himself as he thrust helplessly into his fist.

_ What are you? _

He came with a staggered gasp, hips shuddering as he spilled over his fist. His left hand flexed against the wall, shaky for a moment and then he let himself lean heavily against the tile, taking in breath after breath. 

He stayed there for a few moments, eyes closed, letting his rough breathing smooth out. A strange part of him expected to open his eyes and see Carol standing there, pleased with what the mere thought of her had done to him. It was soon for him to become hard again, but that thought alone created a faint spark of arousal in his belly. When he looked, of course, he was alone. 

Yon-Rogg held his hand under the spray, letting it wash his fingers clean.

*

Carol had always been a little bewildered to see Yon-Rogg in such a decadent setting. Reintroducing herself to creature comforts and decorative interiors had been a steady process, as she had grown used to the simplistic surroundings on Hala. She had a suspicion, in fact, that Yon-Rogg - who had spent far longer in that environment than her - somewhat pined for Kree Minimalism. But to request his quarters be redecorated could suggest two things.

One, that she was more preoccupied with the comfort of a prisoner than anyone - even someone understood to be a former comrade - should be. Or two, that reducing the objective quality of his living could be interpreted by him as some petty assertion of her position.

Not that there was any question as to that.

Out of courtesy, she knocked his front door - in an obnoxious rhythm, as usual - and then pressed the heel of her hand to the pad beside the door. She felt a prick to her skin, and then the screen flashed green and the door opened.

Yon-Rogg was sitting on the couch reading, long legs crossed at the ankle and one arm slung over the back. He glanced up at her with infuriating nonchalance.

“I didn’t think we had an intelligence meeting today,” he said, affecting confusion. As if that was the only reason she ever visited.

“Just trying to keep you on your toes.” She plopped down beside him on the couch, making him bounce slightly.

He lifted his eyebrows, tone light and almost playful: “I happened to be reading, Vers.”

She tutted, letting the old name pass for now. “You’re always reading. You know you really should get out more.”

“Ha ha.” The twinkle of amusement in his eyes seemed to dim, but Carol couldn’t be sure as he quickly turned to place the reader on a nearby table. 

His hair looked damp at the base, by his neck, and unbidden her eyes drifted down the column of his throat to where his collar hid the skin. She had the powerful urge to graze her thumb over his Adam’s apple, but she always tried to show some restraint. She wasn’t about to leap on him the second she got there, or he might get some mixed ideas as to who was in control.

“Good shower?” she asked, conversationally, and he turned to look at her strangely quickly. An indeterminable expression crossed his face, something like suspicion. “Your hair is wet,” she clarified, realizing her comment seemed to come out of nowhere. “Did you remember to dry your ears?”

Yon-Rogg sighed and leaned back into the couch. “My shower was first rate, thank you. Did you really just come here to disturb my reading? Disturb me in general?”

She shrugged. “No, not at all. I came to give you the gift of my presence. My wit, my charm, etc.”

“You’re not witty.”

“Then why are you smiling?” she asked, sweetly.

His slow smile - which had clearly been an unconscious one - broke into a full-blown grin, and he shook his head in exasperation. “And to think I didn’t get you anything.”

“Well, we’ll see about that.” Carol matched his grin, and he stopped trying to hide it.

They sat for a moment, in oddly companionable silence, and then she shifted a little. In moments of silence she was made aware of how bizarre a situation she had put herself in. There was no kidding herself that there was anything sensible about what they were doing, letting herself be drawn back to this person who was responsible for so much blurring of who she was and what she wanted. 

“I believe,” he began, carefully, “there’s something you might want to know, unrelated to the Accusers, or… The broad subject of Kree warfare.” He peered at her, as if he might be able to pry out her thoughts with his eyes.

He still knew her so well.

Carol looked out of the window, avoiding the incision of his gaze. She was still picking apart memories, sifting real from unreal, but unfortunately the best person to help her with that was probably Yon-Rogg himself. Perhaps one day she could trust him enough to ask, but not yet. For now the greatest risk she could allow herself was to joke with him, to share his bed. She needed to keep some cards to her chest.

Perhaps sensing the wall that had come down, Yon-Rogg got up suddenly and went to the bathroom. When she tilted her head, she could see him toweling the ends of his hair, but his face was blocked by the wall. She wasn’t expecting it when he said: “I was thinking about you earlier.”

She waited until he came back into view, leaning in the doorway and eying her, hesitant. Then, she said: “Oh?”

He nodded, and then after a heavy pause, added: “In the shower.”

There was a moment or two in which she waited for him to expand, waited for him to say something calculated to try and ease out what she was trying to keep to herself. And then, at last, she realized what he meant.

There was a bloom of warmth in her lower stomach.

“Oh, you--  _ Well _ .”  Her mouth twisted up at the corner. “That so?”

Another nod. He wasn’t smiling now, but there was something of a twinkle in his eye. 

“Sit down,” Carol told him, tone firmer now. He tossed the towel back into the bathroom, and obeyed, sitting less carelessly than he had before. Something seemed to crackle in the air between them. “Tell me,” she commanded.

“I was…” He hesitated, seemed to be warring with himself over whether to divulge something. He sighed, harshly, continued: “I was washing my neck, and I was thinking about this-” he touched his skin where she had installed the tracker, fingers brushing it lightly “-it’s like your mark on me. How it’s like… you’re always inside me.”

Carol swallowed involuntarily, feeling a mild throb between her legs. But she kept her expression serious, unmoved. “And?”

“And just that thought, it made me hard. And I wanted… I  _ needed _ to touch myself.”

_ Jesus.  _ The thought of Yon-Rogg, the water coursing over his toned, naked body. And him aroused, thinking of her. It filled her head and made her body thrum. 

She took a moment to ensure her voice was still steady, before saying: “Tell me what you did.”

He didn’t answer at first, tongue slowly tracking his bottom lip as he searched for the words. His voice was low when he responded, and his words seemed to drag over her skin. “I stroked my cock, my chest. I thought about your…” His gaze dropped tellingly, and he hesitated. She raised an eyebrow, trying not to laugh. Perhaps he was searching for a descriptor that wasn’t crude, in case it offended her. “...Your  _ body _ around me, your mouth.”

He said _mouth_ __ with a certain intensity, that made Carol think he was referring to something specific. Just once, after a run in with some smugglers on Knowhere, she had been feeling odd, uncomfortably aware of the scale of the universe and all its mess. She had a sad sort of longing for familiarity, and without truly considering it, had found herself at Yon-Rogg’s door. 

She had gone in almost wordless, frustration emanating from her. He had seen the warning in her expression, gave up questions when it was clear answers were not forthcoming. In truth, there were no answers to give. There were no words to give to her anxiety, her fear. In kindness he had fallen silent, and he had been pliant. In the bedroom, the sunlight drained from the apartment, she had taken him into his mouth - the only time she had done that.

It was a blessed distraction. He had come apart beautifully underneath her, fingers almost tender in her hair, muttering sounds that might have been her Kree name or her true name, or nothing at all. Shortly after, she had allowed him to return the favour, her hand cupped possessively around his neck as he curved his tongue inside her. There was an intimacy about the exchange she had not permitted herself to repeat.

“I thought of you asking me, what I am.”

_ What are you?  _ She remembered asking him that, demanding that, with him deep inside her, the pleasure of it rushing through her nerves, across her skin. How it almost overwhelmed her when he answered as she hoped he would.

“You’re mine,” Carol said now.

Yon-Rogg nodded slowly, letting out an uneven breath. The way he was sitting made it difficult to tell, but she was almost certain she could make out the shape of his erection.

She stood up and slowly unfastened her pants, pushing them down over her hips, letting her underwear go with them. She kept her eyes on him as she kicked them off, and toed them aside. 

“You did well to tell me,” she said. “Now take your pants off.” 

He blinked as if he had just woken up, and then seemed to snap out of it. He did as he was told quickly but - she noted with approval - not clumsily. 

Free of the restraint of his clothing, his cock curved upward, and he spread his legs in invitation. She could see his chest rise and fall rapidly, and she moved forward quickly to straddle him, her hands coming to rest around his neck. He looked up at her in something like wonder, and for a fearful moment she thought he might try to kiss her. 

To stall that thought, she took his cock in hand and ground down against him so he could feel her wetness. He let out a broken gasp, and sensitive as she was it was difficult not to just rock against him in desperation. His hands clasped the backs of her thighs, below her ass, and he seemed to be trying to coax her to move.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” she warned him, but when his hands relaxed, she rewarded him by canting her hips again. The tip of his cock brushed against her clit and she groaned just as he did. The concept of him touching himself while thinking of her, had really done a lot of the work. Her nipples were peaked and sensitive, but she was too lazy to remove anymore clothes. 

She just wanted him inside her.

Raising her hips, she held onto his cock and guided him inside her. His hips jolted involuntarily, and this time she allowed him to anchor her hips and thrust into her. 

“Vers…” He murmured.

“Don’t,” she said, shortly. She didn’t even know what she was telling him not to do, but she just wanted to get lost in this. She was being kind, she thought, rewarding him for such a pleasant story.

He seemed to accept it, though, and as she began rolling her hips, he moved one hand between them to rub at her clit. Wet as she was, his fingers manipulated her easily, and soon she had her head tipped back, desperately chasing the current than ran under his hand and deep inside her. Every so often she squeezed around him, just to hear the moans that he couldn’t quite suppress. He was beautiful like this, she thought. A commander he may have been, but Yon-Rogg really seemed to blossom like this. Submissive and helplessly vocal.

What an idiot he’d been all those years, to talk to her about control. He seemed to do very nicely without it.

She pushed her forehead close to his, unable to keep totally upright as they urgently chased each other’s rhythm. 

“What are you?” she whispered. 

His breath was warm against her ear when he answered. 

“I’m yours.”

 


End file.
